


Icicles

by dragongoats



Series: Adventurers of Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: DAIMP, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4058845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongoats/pseuds/dragongoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Elementalist is noisy, obnoxious and defiant. But The Avaar thinks he's adorable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icicles

"I would laugh if it wasn't all so terrible." Rion spat out in response to yet another comment about this mess of a war and the blighted Templars. He put on his best "oppressed mage" face and fixed Belinda with an icy glare— ignoring the looks from the others— as they sat around the warmth of the camp fire.

Rion frowned, then let out a sigh. He could tell they either wanted to comfort him, or smack him, a pretty common reaction to his abrasiveness. The all too familiar feeling of irritation and excitement racing along his skin to the tips of his fingers, tingling, itching, making him uneasy, on-edge, unable to sit still. He kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boots, nervously tugging at the twisted straps of his elaborate outfit. He felt the distant, vague desire to do something, go somewhere—his eyes flicking over to the dark forest— to burn something.

The abrupt thump of a solid, warm hand landing on his shoulder interrupted his warring, spiralling thoughts. Rion glanced up, mouth ready to unleash a cutting remark. The face of the Avaar met him, shocked him into silence. His grin was infectious, it was a brilliant, glinting, gleaming, smile that ran from ear to ear, and Rion felt himself fight against the tug of his rebellious cheeks. He was in a mood, his temper wouldn't be quelled that easily, he needed to fight, to run, to set something on fire and storm off! Defiance was practically his middle name, what would people say if he broke down that easily from a single smile.

Rion scowled again, letting out an exaggerated sigh, hoping the Avaar and everyone else would get the message, that he was still looking for a fight. The Avaar stood close by, somehow refusing to take the hint. He was instead chuckling, the sound a low rumble. It made Rion suspicious, and he instead said nothing, looking down at his idly kicking feet, willing himself to become suddenly utterly fascinated by the little hills of sand and loose grass that he had built up from the past several minutes of digging. His mind tried to come up with a response, a barbed jab of words, a way to annoy this giant strange man who fought with both sword and elements.

Lost in thought, Rion flinched at the sudden and sharp sensation of icy water. He looked up in alarm— snow? No. It never snowed in the Hinterlands— he paused, mid thought, eyes focusing on the tiny icicles that had formed on the tips of the Avaar's impressive goat-horned helm. A second later, another drop formed and dripped onto Rion's nose and began dripping along his cheek.

Impossibly, The Avaar's smile grew even wider, wilder. His eyes following the trailing liquid. Liquid that was falling steadily towards Rion's parted lips. The Avaar reached up to gently brush way the stray droplet of water. The motion caused a strange fluttering in Rion's chest, his mind frantically trying to recall how to breathe. It was a remarkably tender gesture from the intimidating warrior that, combined with their proximity, and something else—something indescribable and warm, despite the chilly water—made the moment feel charged with something.

After a time, The Avaar chuckled, then abruptly left his side to grab another bowl of Fereldan stew at the fire. Rion quickly realised he was staring. That he hadn't in fact moved or SAID anything in several moments— a new record, that he was sure the entire camp would be teasing him about for days. He cleared his throat, looking around slightly sheepishly, suddenly all too aware of himself now that there was some distance between them. His face felt hot, and his throat dry, but beneath it, that buzzing nervous energy was still thrumming.

The Avaar turned to him, pausing in between mouthfuls. "No need to worry, my adorable hot-headed friend," he placated loudly, with a violent wave of his spoon that almost took out the eye of one of the nearby scouts—who scowled and quickly scurried away to go eat much further away. "Tomorrow we shall burn many a foe! I've heard we are taking an entire camp of those Templars, it is sure to be spectacular." He let out a hearty laugh, and attempted to engage several scouts in what must have been a traditional Avaar drinking song, though if Rion was honest, they could have just been very drunk.

Rion sat back with a sigh, watching the merriment, his mind filled with visions of the day to come, the scorching heat of fire spell after fire spell as he took out an entire line of red templar archers. Feeling the adrenaline and lyrium thrum under his skin. The wide, cocky smile of the Avaar as he charged and froze an entire room of Templars. His chest heaving, his maul casually resting on his shoulder—

Rion's toe ceased idly kicking the ground, and he felt his body relax, burning templars in his mind was almost as good as the real thing, he thought with a smirk. He listened to the drunken singing, and even joined in for a song or two, a repetitive chorus that he hummed along to like he knew the words— he didn't. And later, feeling somewhat at ease, in between songs, when the Avaar winked at him from across the campsite, his mouth quirked up despite himself, and he didn't fight it this time.


End file.
